Dreams of You
by DreamonAlina
Summary: Katie McQueen has dreams about a man called the Doctor, ever since she was a little girl. Whenever she told people about these impossible things, they would call her crazy. Eventually she was sent to live in a mental asylum when she was 10, and has been there ever since. What happens when one day, her nightmares come true? Why does she have these dreams? Can the madman help her?


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Doctor Who in any way, shape, or form! I only own my OC, Katherine "Katie" McQueen!

**Summary: **22 year old Katie McQueen has dreams about a man called the Doctor, ever since she was a little girl. Whenever she told people about these impossible things, they would call her crazy. Eventually she was sent to live in a mental asylum when she was 10, and has been there ever since. What happens when one day, her nightmares come true? Why does she have these dreams? Can the madman with the box help her out?

**Author's Note: **Yeah so I had an idea for a Doctor Who fic. I have no idea how this will go, so bear with me!

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Tick tock.

That is the only sound in the room where I had been living for the past twelve years. Tick tock. On the wall, telling me when time passes. When another day of my imprisonment passes.

My hand is steady as I bring my paint brush down on my canvas. Tick tock. Despite my so called insanity, I can keep myself very collected, thank you very much. The thing is, when people call me insane, they're just scared of me. Of what I think. Apparently dreams of aliens and dying people is something to be feared. Tick tock.

I gently dip my paint brush into the dark blue, and run it along the edges of the box that I had created on my canvas. It looks like many of the others that I had painted, but this one was a bit different. It is a darker blue, it looks more worn out. Tick tock.

The door to my cell (ahem, bedroom) opens, but I don't react to it. I stopped reacting to it ten years ago. I've lost all hope of leaving this blasted place.

A tray is set on my table, where it always is placed at lunch. I wrinkle my nose at the smell of it. Pea soup. Again. I go back to painting.

I feel eyes at my back, but I do not turn to face it. I do not give them the satisfaction anymore. Tick tock. My hope used to give me looks of pity, and I refuse to let them look down at me like some wounded animal.

When I've finished, I set it aside to dry, then just sit back in my chair, looking at it. To the average eye, it would look just like some of my other pieces, but to someone who would look with great care, they would notice the extra strokes to give it the older look, the darker shade of blue it was, and just the general old feeling it had to it. It was the most recent box in my dream. Tick tock. After deciphering nothing from it, just as I do from all of them, I get up, and go over to eat. After I swallow the lumpy soup and drain the contents of the bitter orange juice, I leave my room, grabbing my sketch book. It is the only time I am ever out of my room (other than to bathe), but only because I am required to per my psychologist's instructions. If I had ceased all human contact they would think that the only solution is to lock me up in a padded bedroom, and that's the one thing that I will never subject myself to.

I go into the commons room, where there were children of all ages. Some were playing with other children, others were sitting by themselves. And others, believe it or not, were under guard, which was the stupidest idea I've ever heard. There are security everywhere, and doctor's that have complete access to tranquilizers to knock you out. I roll my emerald eyes before crashing onto one of the small chairs and flipping my sketchbook open to my most recent work.

It was an alien that I have drawn repeatedly in the past. It was a very funny looking one, too. It was a sort of shuttle cock shaped thing, with golden balls trailing down each side of it, all over it's, well, body. The head had what I presume to be a telescope as it's single eye, and a whisk looking thing for one arm, and a suction cup with a long rod for the arm. It was definitely an odd looking one.

I fixed my auburn hair into a sloppy bun before I go back to work, adding more detail to it. I have coloured pencils, paints, crayons, everything was at my disposal (in a way to compensate, I suppose) but this drawing I had a feeling needed to be left alone.

As I was doodling, I let my eyes occasionally wander around the room, observing everyone, everything. The entire commons area has been decorated for Christmas, but I don't see the point. Christmas is a time for family. What kind of family lets their child be taken away by people?

I ignore it and keep drawing. As I drew, I started to feel the affects of the medication that I took to 'calm my night terrors'. I felt myself nodding off when I felt a shake at my shoulder. I snapped my eyes open, and lead my gaze up to whoever woke me up.

It was just one of the nurses, one of the nurses who I actually liked. She knew how much I hated commons time, so whenever I looked particularly miserable, she made up the excuse that I told her I was tired and wanted to get some rest. This time though, it wasn't an excuse, so it was simple for her to lead me back to my bedroom. I walked in, and was about to dump my sketchbook on the table when something caught my eye. Something that wasn't there before.

It was the starting picture of a me. I don't remember drawing it. I guess I had started drawing it before I dozed off and didn't even realize it. Shrugging my shoulders, I just shut the book before changing into an old t-shirt and a pair of worn shorts before jumping into my bed.

I fell asleep nervous, listening to my clock on my wall. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock...

* * *

Explosions. That's what plagued my dreams tonight.

There were people dressed in robes-men, women, children-running around, trying to dodge the death rays that the strange things (the one I had in my sketch book) shot at them with their whisks. Whenever someone was strucken, they fell right to the ground, un moving. It took no time for me to assume that it was a killing hit.

My feet were frozen on the ground as I observed the destruction of the area around me. It was like there was a bubble around me, which I very much didn't like. Small spaces make me feel contained, which is how I hate feeling.

A man was running towards me. I was about to tell him that there was no point in trying to save me, just for him to run, when he crashed against the invisible glass. He knocked his hand against it, and that extra five seconds he took looking at me were his mistake. There was one of those things behind him, and I was screaming my head off for him to run, but it was clear that he couldn't hear me. I finally just pointed behind him, but it was too late. The thing screamed, "Exterminate!" Before a brilliant green laser explodes from his whisk, hitting the man square in the back.

"No!" I scream. The man's body flashed green, and I could see his skeleton, and I nearly threw up at the sight of it. His body just hunched over, sliding down the invisible glass. I was sliding down with him, knocking my hand against the glass, screaming for him. This man, whose name I didn't even know, died trying to save me. And all I could do was scream.

Just as I finally stopped, my voice going hoarse, I looked up, right into the eye stalk of one of those _things._

It's eye showed no mercy to me as it aimed it's whisk right at my head. "EXTERMINATE!"

* * *

The scream ripping through my throat is what woke me up. I inhaled deeply, trying to shake the jitters out. I calmed my heartbeat by listening and counting to my clock. The problem though? I couldn't hear my clock.

I turned my head towards it, and saw that it wasn't ticking. That was impossible. I changed the batteries only this morning. They were fresh, I took the pack out myself.

I grabbed the chair in my room, taking it over to the wall where my clock was. I placed it down, before carefully climbing it. I took it off of the wall, looking at the backside. No, the batteries hadn't fallen out. What had caused it to stop ticking?

I turned around with it, and saw the slightest movement from it. I furrowed my eyebrows, getting off the chair, still looking at it. As my feet hit the ground, it starts moving a bit more. Intrigued, I moved forward a few steps, where it started to pick up. Just as quickly as I had moved forward, I moved all the way back, when it stopped moving completely.

So it was like a metal detector? I think to myself. What sort of detector would be in my clock?

I grabbed my robe from off of my hook on the back of my door, and stuck my bunny slippers on. I pulled the robe over me as I started walking, following the sound of the ticking.

I started moving forward again, and with each step, the clock started moving a bit more. I was careful to remain undetected, because being caught out of bed without a note or supervision could result in a serious problem.

For some odd reason, the clock led me to a back exit. I knew that I shouldn't have gone, but I did anyways. It opened to reveal a dark hallway, but there was something on the end. It was really big, almost the size of a phone box on the street.

My heart drops. "Phone box," I whisper to myself. I have written words like that over and over again on paintings and sketches.

Cautiously, my wobbly legs push their way forwards, my clock ticking like crazy. When I finally got there, I gasped. It was what I thought it was. How could I forget? I only see it every night in my dreams, it's always in my thoughts, my drawings.

The clock's spinner is going crazy now. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, over and over again.

I reached my hand out, intending to stroke the material that I had spent years of my life drawing, when the door swung open, and I gasped.

It was him.

His brown pinstripe suit was one that I knew well. Often times in my dreams, this was the face that I saw. He has many more faces, all of which I've seen, but this one showed up the most, with the one after him coming in second. His brown tousled hair fell into his eyes, which looked very confused as he took in the sight of the odd girl in her pyjamas. I took him fully in, paying attention to every single detail that I had spent years pouring into my art. From his neck tie right down to his converses.

I distinctly remember the sound of the clock dropping to the ground as I fell right after it. I felt myself dropping to the ground as arms wrapped around me.

The strong arms of the Doctor.

* * *

**TBC...**

**I know, it's short, but they'll get longer! I promise!**

**Let me know what you think! It might follow elements of the show, but for now, it won't. **

**REVIEW! THANKS! STAY TUNED!**


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